Glamorous

Just another day in paradise.

Nobody goes into motherhood for the glamour.  I mean, don't get me wrong, the dream exists of being woken up by butterfly kisses from your little one, images of making pancakes together in the morning, and taking long stroller-walks on sunny days.

Sure, there's an "elite" sort of quality about getting to stay home with the children you brought into the world...but, that ideal is quickly replaced by reality the first time you get spit-up on in the middle of the night or find yourself throwing chicken McNuggets in the backseat just to get a moment's peace.

We are tough cookies, us moms, and while our beauty may squelch Sports Illustrated models on the inside, our outsides rarely reflect the soul-crushing sacrifices we make in the name of love day-in and day-out.
There's just not much glamour in motherhood.

As I pour my third cup of coffee for the day (this, being hours and hours since I woke up, since it has taken me multiple reheats to polish off each mug), I rub my greasy face and look at my children with eager anticipation that this next hour of our day will be better than the one prior.  This is how most days go for us, with mornings usually off to a rough start and my patience waning by lunch time.

If there is a nap time, I'm always debating how to spend the precious minutes of quiet.  Should I do homework?  Should I do dishes? Should I write?  Should I abandon all responsibilities and watch reruns of "Friends" on the couch while I polish off the rest of that leftover cake?  Should I balance the checkbook, fold laundry, call my sister, or scoop the litter box?  The myriad of options is overwhelming, and I'm often left disappointed in myself for not having accomplished each and every one of them in the 32 minute time slot I'm allotted while my girls are dreaming in the other room.

Look Familiar?

Good heavens.  How did life get so disorganized and messy?  When did taking a shower become a luxury?  And how do my expectations so easily outweigh my realistic responsibilities? 

Well, my friends, that is the beauty of motherhood.

As the saying goes, "With privilege comes responsibility"...but, it occurs to me that all to often, as a mother, I'm so hung up on the responsibility I often completely miss the privilege of what motherhood has to offer.  I get too uptight about not disciplining consistently, too guilty about feeding my kids processed foods, too worried about whether they know their letters or numbers as well as other kids their age, and too anxious about how my mothering is going to churn out these little humans back into society.

And then I breath.  And I reheat my coffee.  And I brush my greasy hair out of my face.  And I open up my eyes to these healthy, wise, spirited children whom I have the privilege to call my own.  And I realize that after yet-another nearly sleepless night I've just expended way too much energy on thinking about myself and an entire mountain of nonsense that's primarily outside of my control.

Lest I forget:  With responsibility comes privilege.

I pray that my vulnerability shines through to my children.  I pray that, while they know their mother isn't perfect, that they see a person who knows she isn't perfect too.  A day will come when I will probably teach my girls about make-up, and concealer, and french braids, and control-top hosiery...but, I hope the most glamorous thing I pass along to them is an honest spirit that strives for a heart of gratitude.

Learning lessons in the middle of a day that are fraught with time-outs and tantrums is much harder than I ever anticipated.  I'm challenged daily and fail often, but I'm constantly reminded that God doesn't give us wasted blessings.  This season of chaos was not gifted to me because God just didn't know where to throw it.  He knew exactly who was meant to raise my children, when they were to be born, and how they would need to be handled.  And, while that's a heap of responsibility, it's a rockstar privilege.

Mamas, let's take a look at our "little privileges" today in this new light.  After all, if God thinks I'm  rockstar enough to take it on (hallelujah, by His grace) then that's glamorous enough for me.